After my stay in San Diego, it was time for me to drive back to good ol' San Jo. It was Saturday, June 4th. I'd been back in town to move as well as to take a marriage prep class with a few other couples and the Chaplain. Friday afternoon was spent on the beach, taking it easy.
But Saturday I was headed home to doggie sit, since my dad would be out of town. That morning I woke up with a terrible kink in my right shoulder. After breakfast in bed and a hot shower, there was no improvement. I had to get going anyway. It was already 1pm, and if I waited any longer, I'd be getting home at 11pm.
I sadly waved goodbye to my fiance and climbed into my dad's behemoth of a van. After filling up the gas tank and buying some sunglasses (I'd lost my previous pair) I hit the open road. Although I had horrible visions of terrible Los Angeles traffic, the situation wasn't that bad.
Listening to mix tapes, I quickly zipped from La Mirada to the Grapevine. The radiator and all the other important parts ran wonderfully going up the mountains, although I did shift down one gear. Soon, I was cruising up the fruited plains of I-5, blaring the tape player. Earlier in the day, I'd taken a naproxen to end my hideous pain, and it was actually working.
Feeling still unfamiliar with the van, I decided not to take any chances. I pulled off the freeway at Harris Ranch (Coalinga) and refueled. Not wanting to stop again for more gas, I decide to top off the tank. I went into the snack shop to see if they had any postcards, which they didn't. I'm so used to my sedan that I was shocked, SHOCKED, to return to the van to see it had taken $56 worth of gas! I climbed back up into the drivers seat, turned the key, and merged back onto the freeway. In the distance, I saw some smoke, but it was way off on the left side of the freeway, so I wasn't worried.
Since I had so few audio tapes for this trip, I'd turned off the tape deck. As I drove down the highway, I could hear the wind pick up a bit. Being in such an unaerodynamic vehicle, I also begin to feel the wind batter the van, ever so gently. The smoke in the distance created a beautiful, if not slighty foreboding effect as the sun set. The sunset, bright sunflower yellow where the smoke had not drifted across, soon became a magnificent, menacing volcanic orange. 'If Sean were here,' I thought with a smile 'he'd be snapping away with his digicam.'
After about ten minutes or so, some smoke began to blow my way, but I wasn't really worried about it. The wind was just blowing the smoke from a distant fire in my direction, I figured. Nothing to worry about. Another few minutes went by, but I was still unconcerned even as heavier smoke blew my way. (Yet not enough smoke to hamper my vision.) As I drove on, I made out a strange shape in the distance. I was in the fast lane, or number one lane, and I could swear I something coming towards me. A few seconds went by and I changed lanes just in time to see a newish sedan speed by in the wrong direction. True, the driver had the hazard lights on but I-5 is a major artery from the Bay Area to Los Angeles.
'Holy Crap! What's up with that?' I thought to myself as the car sped along, southbound in the northbound lanes. I refocused my attention on the highway ahead of me, still wandering about the previous aberation.
About five minutes ticked by as I drove on in silence. Then, the smoke became heavy. The light gray smoke which could have been coming from some one's chimney gave way to thick, slate coloured clouds. I gently applied the brakes and turned on the headlights. I could make out the headlights of the car in front of me, for a little while. Once again, the wind picked up. I quickly sped up, and after about twenty dreadful seconds, the blue sky appeared above me.
My relief, however, was short lived. Gusts of smoke battered the driver's side of the van, and caused me to slow down even more. By this time, the red tale lights of the little Japanese car which had been in front of me are gone. I quickly checked my rear view mirror and noticed that there were no cars behind me. In need of advice, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed my fiance. Surely he'd have an idea or two. Having finally memorised his number, I punch in his number, only to get his voice mail. 'Crap,' I thought. With my mind starting to shift into overdrive, I started to leave a very disjointed message. I tried my very hardest not to cry as I talked into his voice mail. The same thought kept recurring to me...
I was alone.
At precisely 7:28:54pm, I place a call to 911. Up until that moment in my life, I fortunately have never had to dial that number. (Even with all the car accidents I've been in.) So you can imagine my surprise when the phone on the other end rings 3, 5, and finally 10 times before I hear a recorded message. My sarcasm begins to kick in, 'What if a crazed gunman was chasing me?' 10 rings is an awful long time to wait. First in English, then in Spanish, that my call will be recorded and that I need to relay my approximate whereabouts. Finally, the operator picked up and asked me to explain the nature of my emergency. As I told her the nature of my problem, and relayed my location, she replied "Yes, we've had several calls of a huge wild fire in that area. The fire department is on their way. I'm almost certain she asked if I could see any flames and at that particular moment, I could not. So she told me to be careful and that was the end of our call.
By this point in time, I couldn't see anything. Blackness descended, as if someone had blind- folded me. I turned in my hazard lights and pulled off to the right hand shoulder. I didn't exactly know what to do, it didn't seem wise to keep going down the highway when I couldn't see anything. As I sat on the side of the road, I heard a 'Woosh' sound.
I turned my head to the left and saw a wall of bright orange. Given the apparent choice of driving into the unknown, or having a full tank of fuel come into contact with a wild fire, I picked the first option. As fast as my fingers could do so, I turn the key in the ignition, and shift into drive. My right foot punched the gas pedal, hard.
As I forcefully applied the gas pedal, I could hear the whine of the engine. (A V-8 engine, but one, nevertheless, with 153,000 miles on it.) In front of me, blackness is punctuated by bright orange swirls. The temperature begins to rise. It feels like I've got the heater on maximum. Sweat drips down my forehead into my eyes. I can hear the air screaming through the wings in front of the wind-down windows. Soon enough, noxious smoke begans to pour in. That's about the point when I started to cough. I felt a tightness in my chest. The wind still battered against me. It seemed like I was in a vortex. Driving in a straight line became a challenge, and the overall effect was that I was a barreling down the center of both lanes. Bright orange flashes flickered in my peripheral vision and sweat stung my eyes. I hoped with all my being there were no cars stopped in front of me, because the spedometer was maxed out at 85, with the needle actually hovering past the last numbers on the gauge. I started to cough more and thought 'This might be it.'
It's funny how fast your brain can work sometimes. In the amount of time it took to have the aforementioned thought, I remembered what it felt like to have a laser treatment. I remembered the pain, the heat of the last treatment I had. The throbbing. The burning. The blistering. And that was only half an arm. With all the force I could muster, I pushed down on that gas pedal. Hoping it would help the van carry me from painful wounds or a horrible, exploding death. Smoke is coming through the vents even though I don't have the climate control on.
After one last bright flash of neon orange, the smoke eased up a bit. I could make out traffic ahead of me and quickly slowed down and pulled into the slow lane. Traffic ahead of me was stopped.
This was about the time that Sean called me. Despite my best efforts, I start to cry, through my coughs, as we talk on the phone. Just as I thought he would, he gives me advice. Since I'm idling on the freeway with a fire nearby, he tells me to turn off the engine. As I talk to him, cars start speeding up the shoulders on both sides as the fire edges towards us in the median. A U-Haul truck blazes by me on the right hand shoulder, probably going about 80 miles per hour.
As I talk to Sean, there is still no sign of any fire department trucks.
Finally, I see one truck edging towards us in the median.
Ever so slowly, traffic begins edging forward. Sean and I say good bye. Those of us who have made it through the fire storm form a sort of convoy. We start of slowly at first, wary of smoke and flames. But after a while, the smoke is behind us.
I count my lucky stars, and, as traffic speeds up, I put a No Doubt tape into the deck. While I try to relax again, the pain in my shoulder comes back. It feels like barbed wire had unspooled in my shoulder.
Oh well. At least I didn't burn to death.
~ Tragic Saturn
(For a different version of this story, read the archives of Doc in the Box.)
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